


"Don’t ever think that everyone who leaves wants to."

by Likorys



Series: Tumblr snippets [6]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: I'm probably messing up a timeline, M/M, also idea of Jaskier becomig an overprotective feralt guardian of Ciri, but might take a little while, they'll probably get together because that's all I can write about them, who're better to help you grieve than someone grieving themselves?, with whom Geralt will have to deal with? pure gold
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22981705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likorys/pseuds/Likorys
Summary: Jaskier had every intention of keeping away from Cintra, but when an invitation came, asking him to be a bard at Cirilla's first birthday celebration, he couldn't refuse. It became a yearly thing he was looking forward to every winter. Then there was a dragon and he was alone, then Cintra fell and Jaskier realized there might still exist a person he can prove himself useful to.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Tumblr snippets [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651510
Comments: 7
Kudos: 132





	"Don’t ever think that everyone who leaves wants to."

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote by Rachel Wolchin.

For the first few months after the Argument, Jaskier took vicious pleasure in singing _Her sweet kiss_ to lure as many people into a pity fuck as he could. It was _in no way_ a cheap ploy to fuck his love for Geralt away, since it was so clearly _not needed_.

Besides, it never even worked.

Summer came and turned into autumn and then he heard the rumors. About Cintra, about a princess and her husband lost in the storm, about an orphaned girl and Queen taking it out on any enemies she has still left in the Continent.

He remembered Cirilla, the sweetest child he met, the yearly trips to Cintra in winter to play at her birthday celebrations. Her blue eyes and how they darkened, just as her hair turner more golden than white. The adorable way she’d butcher his name because her teeth came in too quickly.

She is _seven_.

Pavetta and Duny _dead_ , Calanthe off to _kill her pain_ away, Eist probably busy trying to keep _the kingdom_ running and Cirilla all alone in _grief_.

Jaskier sets to Cintra the next day, for the first time in a while happy for the years spent at Geralt side, as he made do with sleeping in the woods and catching his dinner just to keep to the shorter route.

It still took him a week and he still has no more plan what to do than when he set off, which is that if he can’t help Ciri then maybe he can at least piss Calanthe off enough to bring her back to the castle. That would help, wouldn’t it?

As he got close, he passed three towns ravaged by her war on feelings, guilt for not stopping to help settling heavily in his stomach.

The irony of thinking Queen’s behavior _stupid_ , while he did the exact same thing, was not lost on him and the fact that Cintra is the last place on the continent his witcher might appear has _no influence_ on his decision whatsoever.

***

When he reaches Cintra it was guarded more than dragon’s egg, which is _not a metaphor_ since he still remembers the carnage, even if he never saw the actual battle. He has a lifetime of sneaking away to aid him and enough coins to bribe a few servants, but the guards prove more troublesome. He hears new rumors then, about a princess and her nightmares, about glass shattering and flying all around and about mutilated or killed servants and nannies.

He sleeps with enough guards to slowly pass the new protections and finally reach the castle. He hides away in the kitchen, helping with dishes in exchange for a meal, in case Calanthe stayed true to her word of having put a kill order on him and only lifting him for his early performances. You can never know with her, and now, with the grief and fear-

He hears a distant echo first, a scream muted as if underwater, then a servant bursts into the kitchen, her arms bloody and the clothes torn to pieces. He’s on his feet before others get out of their panic, grabbing a full pitcher and a jar of red pepper.

“It’ll stop the bleeding.” he sits the young woman by the wall and rips her sleeves off, before washing the cuts so he can pour pepper on.

It’s painful before it gets soothing, but better than nothing and he heard rumors about servants left to fend for themselves. There is an order to not enter the princess’ chamber when she has her _fits_ , but he can’t say he blames anyone for trying to comfort a grieving child.

The doors stayed open and the screams are ear-piercing. He hopes Calanthe run from fear of endangering herself, because if it’s anything else he just might try and slap the Lioness of Cintra and get himself killed and how will he help Ciri then?

After wounds of the servant girl, Siona, are dealt with, he steals a metal baking tray and runs out. The screams echo around and make it hard to find the right room, but after a while, he manages to follow the trail of blood to a door.

They are shut close and he can hear the sounds of wood and glass breaking from inside. The memory of Pavetta’s betrothal sends a shiver down his spine, but he forced himself to ignore it. It’s the first time he feels he can be useful _in months_ and he’ll be damned if he just turns away.

He’s not gonna walk away from those he loves just because it’s a little painful _again!_

It takes a dozen tries to move the door at all and he barely has time to push the metal into the small creak he managed to make before he’s collapsing onto the stone floor, screaming himself as one of his arms lay limp and useless. He breathes through the pain of popping it back into place and tries to ignore the memory of doing it for Geralt so many times.

 _Geralt_ decided he doesn’t need him, so fuck him. Jaskier found someone who just might, so to hell with the risk and pain. It’s probably still his own grief talking, but with blood-curling cries still ringing in his ears, it’s easy to ignore.

He slowly twists the metal around, enough to let him squeeze inside. He’s pretty sure his ribs were _this close_ to breaking, his temples still throb and his left ankle is stiff from being caught in the door almost closing on him, but _he’s inside_.

It’s not as bad as the betrothal. It’s _worse_ , because in the center of the hurricane is a floating bed with a child on it. Not a princess who saved her love, but a princess who just lost everything.

Jaskier’s lucky to still be unharmed, with the way broken glass and splintered wood is thrown around in the air. If he takes even a step he’s probably gonna get shredded…

He grabs the tray again, ripping it from between the doors. No way he’d be able to _pull_ them open, so he’s stuck here now.

He tries to find a moment when it’s more glass than heavy wood flying around and just runs for it. He feels sharp edges cut at his arms and legs and back, he feels his hair pull when things get tangled in them. He trips when a piece of wood hits at his stiff ankle and a broken mirror cuts at his face close enough he sees his eyes in the reflection as it passes. He gets down and keeps low, moving slower, but only his back getting cut now.

It’s cold and at once he’s _glad_ Cirilla didn’t end up locked in a room with no windows and _wishes_ someone cut the glass out at least. He knows it’s close to winter, but come on, they could’ve put heavy fabrics or something, right?

He staggers on his knees when suddenly the pressure is gone, falling to the floor. He takes a moment to breath, then looks himself over. Like with the servant girl, the wounds are shallow. Few will need stitching, but they shouldn’t scar too badly. His arms and back are the worst and the cut on his face won’t stop bleeding, but he doesn’t care.

He stands up slowly and then does a pathetic attempt at jumping to the floating bed. He grabs at the sheets first and pulls himself up exactly one time before they slip and he crashes to the ground, back of his head feeling warm and sticky where it hit the cold stone.

The screams never end and the ringing in his head makes him dizzy, the clatter of broken furniture around the room not helping. He forces himself to stand up and rips off a piece of the sheet he took with him, to tie around his head and keep the two worst wounds from bleeding too much.

He tries a makeshift rope, but with the winds around he can’t throw it properly. So he carefully walks back to the edge of the eye of the storm, then bites his sleeve as he reaches in to try and grab something heavy. His hand comes away slick with blood and shaking, but he caught a piece of wood heavy enough to work as an anchor.

With the weight added, he loops the rope around the post of the bed and then slowly hoists himself up.

He drops onto the bed, gasping and clutching at his head, because right here, so close, the screams seem to cut at him like blades. Just like _his words_ did at that damned mountain. Fitting, that no physical wound ever bothered him, but a few choice words will leave him so broken…

He rips off an end of his makeshift rope to wrap around his bloody hand, then slowly moves closer to Cirilla. She trashing on the bed, arms clutching at the bedding, face wet with tears, screaming and alone and suddenly Jaskier just feels _so angry._

At the world, for killing such good people. At Queen Calanthe, at Eist, at Mousesack, at anyone who’d let this happen without protest.

There is old anger too, at Geralt for his dismissal and Yennefer for taking him and Borch for the whole dragon ordeal.

At _destiny_ , for making them all suffer so much for no bloody reason!

He grabs at Ciri and holds her close and _screams with her_ , until his throat is raw and until his face is wet with tears and until he feels wrung out like-

He loses breath as the bed crashes into the floor, the trash around it clattering down with it. The noise is deafening and it takes Jaskier a moment to realize the screaming stopped.

He looks up at Cirila and smiles at seeing her open eyes, even if they’re wet with tears.

“The-ey’re gooone!” she wails and Jaskier only holds her closer, curling around and stroking her back.

“I know. It hurts and I know.” he whispers, again and again, because sharing her suffering is the only consolation he can offer.

There is no monster to kill or no human to punish. Nothing but a freak storm and an unfortunate journey.

He holds Ciri close as she sobs into his arm, brushing her hair until she cries herself to sleep. His hand is burning with pain and his clothes and the bedding started to dry itself to his skin, but he’s not gonna move.

The doors open at some point, Eist with a few guards looking in. Jaskier looks him straight in the eyes, arms grabbing at Ciri and ready to flee with her if he needs to, because he’s not leaving the only person left in this forsaken world that makes him stop feeling completely useless and unneeded.

Eist looks like he aged a century as he sighs, sending guards away. He walks in and sits on the edge of the bed.

“It should be you.” Jaskier hisses between clenched teeth, but moves his hand from Ciri’s hair so Eist can replace it with his own.

“I’m just a human.” he sighs again. “We tried so many times to get to her. Calanthe almost lost an eye before I dragged her out last time… Mousesack is looking for some magic help, but- there was nothing to do but wait.” he lets a bitter laugh. “Wait and listen to her every night.”

“I’m human -! “Jaskier bites his tongue to keep insults and accusations back. The explanation makes sense and it’s probably the best they could do, even if he so wishes there was some miraculous answer he could throw at his face.

Calanthe’s probably better off killing enemies than getting killed by Ciri’s powers. Mousesack probably needs to keep it all secret so finding anything will take time. Eist looks like he hasn’t slept in years.

Jaskier sighs and slowly sits up, eyes never leaving Ciri’s face.

“I should get cleaned… “ he looks himself over and makes a face. Even the sheets are a bloody mess! “Can you call to bring some water, needles and thread?” he looks at Eist and frowns at his incredulous stare.

“You might be human, but you don’t give yourself enough credit.” Eist says finally and moves to gather Ciri into his lap. “Call a servant and ask for all you need, I’ll have them prepare a room tomorrow.”

Jaskier freezes, suddenly aware how much of _a choice_ it is.

If he stays, he has no chance to meet Geralt again. He doesn’t expect him to come apologize, but still… he’d be the one to cast him away this time, locking himself away in one place witcher will never come looking.

He sighs and decided to think about it later.

“So Calanthe can kill me when she’s back?” he mutters, standing up from the bed.

Eist has the decency to only laugh _a little_ before he shakes his head.

“You earned the right to stay.” he says and looks Jaskier over.

Oh, right, the wounds. At least the years of getting used to being hurt because somewhat useful.

“They look much worse.” Jaskier shrugs it off and looks away.

He’s not used to being the one praised, it was always Geralt who did great deeds and he just got in the way.

“Go clean up and rest.” Eist shoes him gently with one hand, other still brushing trough Ciri’s hair. Her face is still wet from tears, but they’re slowly drying. “She’ll want to meet you as soon she wakes… familiar face might do her good.”

Jaskier nods slowly and forces himself to leave the room.

He makes a guard fetch a servant, then asks to bring water and sewing supplies here. He’s not ready to leave any further just yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a post by @garroterjuryandjudge to be found her https://garroterjuryandjudge.tumblr.com/post/611023981308461056/ok-but-based-on-the-jaskier-was-huge-in-cintra
> 
> I'm leaving it open for now, because the plot bunnies are already breeding, but it might take a while for me to update.


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